The music I played on my piano was my last link to my late husband. But cruel neighbors shattered that joy with a hurtful message on my wall. When my granddaughter found out, she made things right, leaving those entitled neighbors scratching their heads.
“Oh, Jerry, did you love it today, darling?” I asked softly, the last notes of “Clair de Lune” filling my cozy living room as my fingers lifted from the ivory piano keys. My eyes fixed on the framed photo of my late husband, Jerry. His kind eyes seemed to twinkle back at me, just as they had for over fifty years of our marriage…
Willie, my tabby cat, stretched lazily near my feet, purring contentedly. I reached down to scratch behind his ears, feeling the familiar ache in my chest as I carefully lifted Jerry’s photo.
“I miss you so much, darling. It’s been five years, but sometimes… sometimes it feels like yesterday.”
Pressing a gentle kiss to the cool glass, I whispered, “Time for dinner, my love. I’ll play your favorite before bed, okay? ‘Moon River,’ just like always.”
As I set the frame back down, I could almost hear Jerry’s warm chuckle. “You spoil me, Bessie,” he’d say, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
I shuffled towards the kitchen, pausing to look back at the piano, my constant companion these past 72 years.
“What would I do without you?” I murmured, running my hand along its polished surface.
That night, as I lay in bed, I whispered into the darkness, “Goodnight, Jerry. I’ll see you in my dreams.”
The next morning, I was lost in Chopin’s “Nocturne in E-flat major” when a sharp rap on my window startled me. My fingers stumbled, the music cutting off abruptly.
A red-faced man glared at me through the glass. He was my new neighbor.
“Hey, lady!” he shouted, his voice muffled. “Cut out that racket! You’re keeping the whole neighborhood awake with your pathetic plinking!”
I stared at him, shocked. “I… I’m so sorry,” I stammered, even as a small voice in my head protested. It was barely 11 a.m., and none of my other neighbors had ever complained before.
The man stomped away, leaving me trembling. I closed the lid of the piano, my sanctuary suddenly feeling tainted.
The next day, I closed all the windows before sitting down to play. The music felt muffled and constrained, but I hoped it would keep the peace.
I was barely ten minutes into Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” when my doorbell rang insistently. With a heavy heart, I answered it.
A woman with pinched features glared at me. “Listen here, old lady,” she spat. “The grave’s calling, and you’re still banging on that piano? Cut the noise, or I’ll report you to the HOA!”
It was only then that I understood she was my new neighbor’s wife.
I felt like I’d been slapped. “I… I closed all the windows,” I said weakly.
“Well, it’s not enough!” she snapped, turning on her heel. “Quit making noise with your stupid piano!”
I slumped against the door frame, tears welling in my eyes. “Oh, Jerry,” I whispered. “What do I do?”
I could almost hear his voice, gentle but firm. “You play, Bessie. You play your heart out. Don’t stop… for anyone.”
But as I sat at the piano, my fingers hovering over the keys, I couldn’t bring myself to press down.
Days passed, and I tried everything. I taped cardboard over the windows, played only in short bursts, even considered moving the piano to the basement where it might not be heard.
But nothing seemed to satisfy my new neighbors, the Grinches, as I’d started calling them in my head.
The thought of being separated from my cherished instrument, even by a flight of stairs, made my heart ache. This piano wasn’t just an object; it was an extension of my soul, a living connection to Jerry and our life together.
Forgetting about those bothersome neighbors for a moment, I lost myself in the music as I played the piano that night.
The next morning, I stepped outside to tend to my small herb garden. The sight that greeted me stopped me cold.
The cruel words “SHUT UP!” were spray-painted across the wall in angry red letters.
I sank to my knees and wept. “Jerry, I can’t do this anymore.”
That day, for the first time in decades, I didn’t touch my piano.
As night fell, I sat in Jerry’s armchair, clutching his photo. “I’m so sorry, my love. I just don’t have the strength to fight anymore.”
The shrill ring of the telephone startled me from my thoughts. I fumbled for the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Mom? It’s me,” my son Jacob’s warm voice filled the line. “How are you doing?”
I swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “Oh, I’m fine, sweetie. Just a quiet day at home.”
There was a pause. “Mom, you don’t sound fine. Is everything alright?”
I sighed, debating whether to burden him with my troubles. “It’s nothing, really. Just… some issues with the new neighbors.”
“Issues? What kind of issues?”
I found myself spilling everything… the complaints, the threats, the vandalism.
“I don’t know what to do anymore, honey. I feel so… lost.”
“Oh, Mom, why didn’t you tell me sooner? We could have helped.”
“I didn’t want to worry you. You have your own life, your own problems.”
“Mom, you’re never a burden. Never. Your music has brought joy to so many people over the years. Remember all those Christmas parties? The school recitals you played for? You’re not a nuisance… you’re a treasure.”
“Listen, I’m going to call Melissa. She’s closer. Maybe she can come check on you. And we’ll figure this out together, okay?” Jacob finished.
As I hung up the phone, I felt a small flicker of hope. Maybe I wasn’t alone in this after all.
Days crawled by. My piano sat untouched, gathering dust. I felt like a part of me was withering away.
One evening, a loud knock startled me from my melancholy. I opened the door to find my granddaughter Melissa standing there, her face glowing with a warm smile.
“Surprise, Nana!” she exclaimed, enveloping me in a tight hug.
As she pulled back, her eyes widened in horror. “Nana, who did this to your wall?”
I burst into tears, the whole story spilling out between sobs. Melissa’s expression darkened with each word.
Fаrmеr Аnd 16 Соws Fоund Dеаd, Саusе Оf Dеаth Finаlly Disсоvеrеd
Note: we are republishing this story to raise awareness for the Mike Biadasz farm safety and education memorial fund. Learn more at their Facebook page here as well as their website here.
A farmer and 16 of his cattle have died in a freak accident after a “dеаdly dome of air” formed in a Wisconsin farm’s manure holding tank.!!
According to WAOW, a 29-year-old farmer named Michael Biadasz, from Amherst, Wisconsin, died of gas poisoning on his family’s farm after being overcome by fumes of either methane or sulfur oxide. Initially, 13 of the farm’s cattle died as well; later, three more expired, bringing the total to 16 cattle dеаths.
The 29-year-old’s father, Bob Biadasz, co-owner of Biadasz Farms, said that the tragedy was the result of a “perfect storm” of unusual and unexpected weather conditions. When the tank was prepped to be pumped, warm upper air temperatures trapped the gases in a dome of air which then poisoned Michael and the cattle.
Biadasz was reportedly found dеаd when other workers arrived to begin hauling manure away from the tank.
“The family is devastated, absolutely devastated,” Portage County Coroner Scott Rifleman told WAOW.
Rifleman told WSAW that gas poisoning dеаths typically occur in closed areas, making the incident even more surprising. The coroner said that atmospheric pressure prevented the gases from dissipating.
The coroner went on to say that an investigation is underway to determine exactly what caused Biadasz’s dеаth. According to Rifleman, Biadasz had safely emptied the same tank hundreds of times prior to the fatal incident.
The Biadasz family honored Michael by parking a line of tractors and machinery along the road that passes the farm. Among the vehicles parked are a blue tractor, several red trucks, and Michael’s black pickup truck…
“As if there isn’t already enough dаngеr in the lives of farmers, this family had to suffer this freak accident,” one Facebook user commented on the story. “So sad.”
Following the tragic accident, many are calling for tougher regulations to be placed on manure holding tanks to prevent a similar incident in the future. According to All That’s News, the National Agriculture Safety Database says that there should be proper ventilation in areas where animals are stored and that warning signs must be posted nearby.
“In addition to adhering to proper construction and maintenance procedures for liquid manure storage facilities, owners should be encouraged to follow a few precautionary measures to protect both workers and livestock from harmful manure gases,” the NASD writes.
WASW reports that a similar unfortunate fate befell a Virginia family in 2007, when five of its members died as a result of a pipe blockage that caused a fatal buildup of methane gas.
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